The Getaway Bride
by Cherchie
Summary: mild cursing. fantastic story. please read and review. thank you.
1. Default Chapter

The Getaway Bride *Untitled*  
  
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``Prologue``  
  
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
  
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Helga and Arnold. But I do own this story.   
  
As you all know, Helga is in love with Arnold since the day he offered his umbrella to her and said something about   
liking pink. In this fiction story, you will read about Helga and Arnold when they are adults. Everything has changed since  
when they were small. They are all grown up now. I hope you will like it as much as I had fun writing it. And when you're   
done reading it. Please R/R. Thank you. And now, I will begin the story. (Help me out here! I forgot what's the place they  
lived in when they were young. Tell me please when you review. Thank you. I'll change it once you tell me.)  
  
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Arnold (whatever his last name is) smiled as he headed up the walkway in the (place. Hillwood, I think?). He was holding  
a bouquet of flowers in his work-roughened left hand, on which he wore a new gold wedding ring. He had stopped at a flower  
shop and chose the flowers himself. The small bunch of daffodils and tulips had cost him $7.65.   
  
Someday, he told himself, he'd bring his wife roses. Just as, someday, he intended to give her a real honeymoon.   
  
His wife. The words still startled him when they crossed his mind. He'd been a married man for exactly a month now, after  
a whirlwind courtship of just 6 months.   
  
He stuck his key in the front door of the boarding house, sweeping off his battered black hat which his wife gave to him  
for his birthday. He treasured it ever since. His grandparents had died and he was in a sort of depression for months until   
he met a certain girl. And fell in love, all over again. Now, the boarding house was legally owned by him because his   
grandparents wrote it in their will before they died. He found his parents and they were happy for him when he wed. The  
familiar aroma of strawberries and lemon greeted him. His wife was a nut for strawberries and lemon-scented candles.   
  
  
"Helga? I'm home!" His eager call seemed to echo in the boarding house.   
  
He hung his hat on the hook on the wall beside the door, next to the wide-brimmed straw hat Helga often wore to protect her  
fair skin from the sun. Blond and blue-eyed, she burned easily, and was very careful to avoid overexposure.   
Arnold was glad that she still loved him after all these years. Although he was dense and clueless when he was younger, he  
figured out somehow that Helga loved him. And so, the two young hearts began a new friendship. He loved the velvety soft feel  
of her even though she was a tomboy back then. He loved her no matter what she does. *Ain't that cute?*  
  
  
"Helga???"  
  
**Let's skip the details. etc. Now, here's the interesting part. I'll tell you the rest of the details next time. okay? that  
would be fair. But to get you interested here it is.*  
  
Here are the facts: Helga is not home. She hasn't gone home for almost the whole day and it is almost midnight already.  
Everyone is anxious of where she is. Even Arnold.   
  
Now I begin:  
  
Arnold paced through the hallway, torn between worry and anger. Damn it, where was Helga? It wasn't like her to go off  
like this. He went back to their bedroom. He looked in the closet. Most of Helga's possessions were gone. And the suitcase  
on the floor by the shoes were gone too. It seemed as it she just disappeared. Something pulled him towards the drawers. He  
opened it up expecting see Helga's lingerie but only found a white envelope. The note was brief, the writing hastily scrawled.   
  
It said:   
  
Arnold,   
I'm so sorry. I can't explain now, but I have to leave you. I know this is so sudden and it will be hard for you to accept  
this and understand, but I'm doing this for your sake and for you're own good. I can't be with you now. Don't try to find me.  
Please believe that I never meant to hurt you. I'm so very sorry.  
Helga  
  
Arnold sank slowly to the edge of the bed, reading and re-reading the note that seemed to become more blurry the longer he  
looked at it. It was a long time before he moved again.   
  
I have to leave you.   
  
The words had sliced deeply into him. As he sat there on the edge of the bed, trying to understand the meaning of the words,  
he felt this overwhelming despair inside of him. Not quite, thirty years old, he had just lost the fire and enthusiasm with  
which he'd once faced the future. His bride had taken away much more than her clothing when she left him. 'Helga!!!!', he  
screamed quietly inside his head. It seemed it will take longer to overcome this mishap.   
End of Prologue.  
  
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Hope you liked it. Please r/r. The review would depend on if this is a good story and if it is, I will continue. If not, I  
will abruptly stop. Even one review would be good enough for me to continue. Thank you for your cooperation.  
  
Sincerely, ~*Silver Sprite*~ 


	2. Chapter One Part One

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters in this story!   
  
UPDATED: May 16, 2003. *The update date is here. So if it is May 17, for example, there will be more for this chapter, etc.*  
  
This is PART ONE of Chapter One.   
  
**There will be more parts to chapter one so please wait patiently. Thank you for cooperating.**  
  
Yay! I got one review!! Ain't that great? Since I promised and told you that if you reviewed even one review, I'll continue.  
  
This story, The Getaway Bride, is a new change of Arnold. You'll see what I mean. I updated Chapter One. So please read!  
  
Well, then .. Let's begin!!!   
  
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Helena Price wasn't exactly popular with the people she saw on a daily basis and she knew it. In fact, she wanted it. She  
  
went out of her way to hold them at more than arm's length. She had no place in her life for friends.  
  
Every morning at exactly 7:30 AM, she went to work in a office at the second floor of a tax collector building,  
  
where she efficently filed and processed paperwork in Chicago, Illinois. She worked there in an almost undisturbed solitary  
  
area for 10 hours a day, 5 days a week. The people who work in the first floor contact her and give her many files of  
  
clients, give instructions, deliver mail to other employees that need the file. The other people working with her on the  
  
same floor, gave up trying to become friends after their early efforts had been firmly declined.  
  
Helena was never actually rude to the others, but she made no effort to be particularly friendly, either. She had worked  
  
hard to create the facade that everyone would think that she is an eccentric loner with no social life. Sometimes, some  
  
well-intentioned person would try to befriend her. Invite her to lunch. Make an effort to make friends with her out of pity  
  
and kindness. Helena had the same response to anyone wanting to be friends with her. No. Can't, sorry. Maybe next time.  
  
(which will be never) Sorry, I can't. I'm busy. And so on. She wears a cool smile and an unwaveringly response of rejection  
  
to any friendly overture.   
  
Jake Smith, the newest employee at the tax company, was proving to be more annoying and persistent than the others had been.   
  
"Morning, Helena." he said walking in a lazy manner into her rectangular office with a stack of files/paperwork. "Don't you  
  
look lovely today."   
  
She was wearing a black leather jacket with a navy blue dress that made her skin look pure white and did nothing to  
  
enhance her hazel eyes. She hadn't tried to change her jewelry. She wore only a plain, leather-banded watch on her left  
  
wrist and a thin silver chain that disappeared beneath the high collar of her unflattering dress.   
  
She pulled her mousy hair into a severe bun that would have been more suited to a woman twice her age. She wore no makeup  
  
and her oversized (non-prescription) glasses had slid down her nose again, forcing her to push at them with her finger.   
  
"Thank you.", she said coolly, reaching for the papers. Her tone impied that the conversation ended there.  
  
Jake didn't take the hint. He'd worked for the company for two weeks. For some reason, he'd been determined to befriend  
  
Helena, despite her resistance. She sensed from the beginning that his interes in her was not sexual. A woman usually   
  
suspected when a man was genuinely attracted to her, and Helena knew that wasn't the case with Jake. Yet he continued to try  
  
his best to draw her out. She could only guess his motive to be pity or conceit. Pherhaps he was the type of man who  
  
simply cound't stand it if a woman didn't succumb to his considerable charms.   
  
He was definitely attractive. Boyishly tousled golden-brown hair. Wicked brown eyes. Killer smile. A sleder boy that nicely  
  
set off his loose shirts and softly pleated slacks. A thirty-something heart-throb.   
  
He had no way of knowing, of course, how she feels anyway. Plus, Helena's heart had long been locked away in a place where  
  
no one would ever make it throb again.  
  
  
  
"I was thinking about trying out that new Italian restaurant down the street for lunch today," he said. "Would you like to  
  
join me?"  
  
"No, thank you," she replied, deliberately turning her attention back to her work. "I brought my lunch."   
  
Resting one lean hip against the wall in her small cube-like office, he picked up her stapler, tape dispenser, and a brass  
  
paperweight and absently began to juggle them. Helena's eyebrows lifted as she watched the heavy items arc lazily through the  
  
air.  
  
"It's a beautiful day" he said enticingly. "It's finally starting to look like spring. Much too nice for a brown-bag  
  
lunch. Wouldn't you rather get out of the office for an hour or so?"  
  
She was momentarily diverted for a few seconds when he skillfully shifted into a new pattern of tossing the desk accessories  
  
from one hand to the other.   
  
"You missed your calling," she couldn't resist saying. "You should have joined the circus."  
  
He stilled his hands and replaced her possessions on her desk. The sleeve of his pale orange shirt pulled back when he  
  
reached out, revealing a glimpse of what might have been a small tatto on his right writs. Before Helena could identiy if,  
  
he'd hidden it again beneath his cuff. "Been there. Done that," he said without hesitation.   
  
  
  
"Last chance for Italian?"  
  
She shook her head, no. He let out an exaggerated sigh and walked toward the doorway. She'd noticed that Jake rarely seemed  
  
to move in a hurry.   
  
  
  
"Some other time, then," he said.  
  
She didn't respond to that reply. She had no intention of having lunch with him at any time, but she didn't want to issue a  
  
challenge by saying so now. He would lose interest in her soom, she hoped. They all did, after a while. Ignoring the hollow  
  
ache of loneliness inside her, she turned back to her work. She was very good at her job. It was all she had.  
  
Helena stopped at a take-out Italian store on her way home that evening, ordering spaghetti and meatballs. She'd been  
  
craving Italian food ever since Jake had asked her out for lunch. She spent the remainder of the day on her sofa in her tiny  
  
but comfortable apartment. The television was on but she paid no attention to the program. She only turned it on for the  
  
comforting sound of human voices. 


	3. Chapter One Part Two

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Helga and Arnold. BUt I do own this story.   
  
UPDATE: May 20, 2003.  
  
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~*PART TWO*~  
  
It infuriated Arnold that his hand wasn't quite steady when he reached across his desk to accept the photographs Jake  
  
offered him. Arnold studied the photographs closely. They were candid snapshots, taken without the subject's knowledge. The  
  
woman pictured was hardly spectacular. She appeared to be in her early mid-thirties. She looked stern and humorless. Mousy  
  
hair like Phoebe's but brown. Brown eyes. Heavy glasses. Unflattering clothing.   
  
Helga would be almost 27 years old now. Her hair had been a rich honey-blonde, her eyes the pure blue of a clear summer  
  
sky. She'd had a weakness for strawberry-lemoned scents. Her smiles had been sweet, and there'd occasionally been shadows  
  
in her beautiful blue eyes.  
  
It had been two and 3/4 years since she'd walked out on him.  
  
"Well?" Jake prodded from across the desk, a hint of sympathy in his voice. Arnold sighed and nodded, his gaze riveted to  
  
the pale face in the photograph he was holding in his left hand. The hand on which he still wore the ring Helga had put there  
  
on their wedding day.  
  
"Yes," he said heavily. "This is my wife."  
  
He lifted his head to look fiercely at the brown-blondish haired man.   
  
  
  
  
  
"Where is she?"  
  
Without even calling his employer, he's simply not shown up for work two days ago, the day after Helena had declined his  
  
invitation for lunch. No one had heard a word from him since.   
  
Being someone who knew all about disappearing without notice and the many reasons a person could be driven to do so,  
  
Jake's vanishing act bothered Helena. Mostly, she worried that it had something to do with her. SHe didn't waste time calling  
  
herself paranoid. She, more than most, had every reason to be anxious. The fact was that Jake had seemed unusually interested  
  
in her. Ans, sinced she'd determined he wasn't after her body, she couldn't hel but worry about what he had been after.  
  
Distracted by her nervous thinking, she flipped throught the junk mail without interest, tossing th colorful flyers away  
  
without bothering to read them. She st=et the water bill and cable bill aside to pay later. Since television, radio, and  
  
books were her only entertainment she allowed hersef, she ordered as many channels as she could afford.  
  
The final envelope made the blood drain from her face. It was addressed to Helena Price, conplete with apartment number and  
  
correct zip code. There was no return address, but the oddly slanted handwriting was sickeningly recognizable to her. She  
  
knew exactly what she would find inside. Photographs. Nothing else. No note of explanation or identification.  
  
Her hand was shaking so hard she could hardly open the flap. Two snapshots tumbled out when she finally ripped the  
  
envelope apart. THe photos blurred in front of her eyes as she reached out to touch a fingertip to a face she hadn't seen in   
  
two and 3/4 years. And then she recognized the subject of the other photograph. Her breath caught in a painful sob.  
  
"Oh, God," she whispered, groping for the back of the nearest chair for suppost. "Oh, God."  
  
It took several long moments to fight off the dizziness and the nausea. And then she leaped into action, snatching up the  
  
photographs and hurrying into the bedroom. She pulled out a large suitcase that was always kept ready and began to fill it  
  
fast, going through motions that had become all too common in the past months. SHe didn't bother with the few plain suits and  
  
other work clothing, but grabbed heans, tops, sweatsuits, socks, and underwear. Practical, sturdy, easy-care clothing that  
  
required little attention, and could be donned swiftly.  
  
Helena Price, aka Helga Pataki, was on the run again.  
  
~*End of Part Two*~  
  
Please R/R and thank you for your cooperation. Have a nice day!! ^_~ I think this is a little cliffhanger but I'm not sure.  
  
So please review. *Hint, Hint: If I get more reviews, I might continue with this story. Two or three reviews at least.*   
  
Thank You. And have a Great Day! *!*SiLveR sPriTe*!* 


	4. Chapter One Part Three

~*Part Three*~  
  
Arnold almost missed her.  
  
He'd been sitting in his Jeep for at least 15 minutes in the parking lot of the apartment complex Jake had directed him.  
  
He'd been trying to get up his courage to knock on her door, mentally rehearsing the questions he would ask her, the words he  
  
wanted to say to her.  
  
Taking advantage of the nice weather on this April weekend morning, two well-built, young guys were washing and waxing a  
  
classic '67 Mustang in a corner of the lot. Arnold was aawaye that they had noticed him sitting there. They probably wondered  
  
why he hadn't gottne out his truck.  
  
He drew a deep breath, opened his door and climbed out. He had just taken a step toward the building when he spotted a  
  
woman hurrying down the walk, dragging a wheeled suitcase behind her.   
  
Had he not seen the photographs, he might not have recognized her. SHe looked very different from the woman who had  
  
haunted his dreams for so long. He was well aware that he had changed, too, though his own changes were mostly internal.   
  
He frowned at the sight of her suticase. It was obvious that she was running again. But why? Had she somehow been  
  
tipped off that he'd located her? And if so, why the hell was she so determined to avoid him?  
  
What in God's name had he done to her?  
  
He stepped in front of her, blocking her way. "Hello, Helga."  
  
Her face had already been ashen. At the sight of him,. it bleached to a deathly pale. He grimly identified her expression  
  
as horror-stricken. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. She seemed literally unable to speak. His automatic response to  
  
her obvious distress was concern. The protective instincts he'd almost forgotten kicken in, and he was about to say something  
  
to reassure. Then he remembered he hell she'd put him through, and a wave of hurt and fury crashed through him.   
  
"Don't look at me like that, damn it," he snapped. "I have a right to some answers."  
  
"Please," she managed to say, her voice thin, breathless. "You have to leave. You have to go now."  
  
He scowled. "I'll leave when I'm ready. First, you're going to answer my questions."  
  
SHe shook her head, edging to one side of the walkway as though prepared to bolt around him. He saw her gaze shift quickly  
  
from him to the praking lot, obviously thinking of the distance to her car.   
  
  
  
"Please, Arnold," she whispered, almost pleadingly. "Go home."   
  
"Home?" he repeated bitterly, thinking of that torturous afternoon two and a half years ago when he'd returned home so  
  
eagerly only to have his dreams smashed. "You really think I'm going to leave that easily now that I've found you?"  
  
"You have to," she insisted, an edge of hysteria in her voice. "Leave me alone. I don't want you near me!"  
  
He was rather surprised to discover that she could still hurt him, after all these years. He'd thought she'd done all the  
  
damage she could do the day she'd walked out on him. It seemed he'd been wrong.   
  
  
  
"Why, Helga?" he demanded roughly. "What did I do to you?"  
  
She shook her head. "I have to go."  
  
She moved to step around him. Gabe reached out instinctively to stop her, his hand closing around her upper arm, which  
  
felt thinner than he remembered. His touch wan't gentle, but he didn't harm her. Even as hurt and angry as he was, he would  
  
never use his strength and size against her. And yet, the moment he touched her, Helga began to scream.  
  
"What the---" Arnold began.  
  
"Hey!" The two young men who'd been pampering the Mustang dropped their cloths and sprinted toward them.  
  
"Let go of her, mister!!" one of them shouted.  
  
Arnold automatically released his grip, and held his hands nonthreateningly away from her.   
  
"I'm not hurting her," he said. "She's--"  
  
Helga was already running, the suitcase bumping along behind her.  
  
"Please," she gasped to her would-be rescuers as she passed them. "Hold him here for just a few minutes. Just long enough  
  
for me to get away."  
  
Arnold's instinctive movement after her was cut off when one of the guys took him down in a graceful tackle that must have   
  
been perfected through years of football trianing. Arnold's breath left him in a hard whoosh when he hit the concrete, the  
  
muscular young man on top of him.  
  
He struggled to get up. "Let go of me, damn it. She's my wife!!" he said furiously.  
  
Desperation added strength to his movements. If he lost her now, who knew how long it would be until he located her again?  
  
If ever.  
  
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~*End of Part Three*~  
  
Hope you like it! I think this is also another cliffhanger thingy. Well, please R&R. I'm trying to reach 15 reviews before  
  
the end of this week. So if I get maybe a few more reviews, I'll give you the rest of the chapter(s). I'm almost done with  
  
Chapter One. So please stay tuned for Part Four. Thank you.   
  
3 ~*Silver SpriTe*~ ^_~ 


	5. Chapter Two Part One

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything in this story. You know the drill.  
  
STARTED: MAY 29, 2003.  
  
Here's.. CHapter Two!! Read and enjoy! Please R&R. Thank you! ~*Silver SPrite*~ ^_~  
  
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**Chapter Two**  
  
Helga had no destination in mind when she left the place. She drove aimlessly south. When she passed the  
  
car dealership where she'd worked for the past five months, she didn't even glance back. She'd driven away  
  
from so many different places in the past thirty months that it barely caused her a pang to do so now.  
  
She would call Monday and let someone know she wouldn't be back. Her employer would be angry, but no one  
  
would worry about her enough to list her as a missing person. They would simply assume that she'd rudely  
  
quit without notice. She doubted that anyone ever missed her when she made these abrupt moves. There was  
  
only one person in the past almost three years ago who'd probably grieved for her when she'd left, and  
  
she'd told herself that he'd gotten over her a long time ago. Out of habit, she touched the thin gold  
  
chain at her throat, where it disappeared beneath the collar of her shirt. She still coudn't believe  
  
that Arnold had found her. She'd nearly had a heart attack when he'd stepped in front of her on that  
  
walkway. It had been like seeing a ghost.  
  
Or like seeing a long-mourned part of herself.  
  
How had he found her? How long had he been searching for her? And what was the connection between  
  
running into him and the photographs that had arrived in her mail? Both incidents had occurred the same  
  
day. Was it simply a bizarre twist of fate - or was it something much more sinister?  
  
She tried to calm herself by focusing on the music coming from the cassete deck. And then she realized  
  
what song was playing. The song was warning her that even the quickest way wasn't fast enough when you  
  
run from love. She turned off the stereo and reached up to wipe at her face, finding it wet. She didn't  
  
know how long she'd been driving with tears streaming down her face. She swallowed a sob. She wouldn't  
  
cry. She never allowed herself to cry. Not ever. Ever again.  
  
She forced herself to concentrate on her driving. Though she had little regard for her own life these days,  
  
as cold an empty as it had become, she was desperately determined not to cause harm to anyone else. That  
  
sole motivation had kept her alone and on the run for more than two years.  
  
Keeping in touch by cell phone, Jake and Arnold caught up with Helga in Wichita, Kansas, several hours  
  
after she'd escaped Arnold in Des Moines. Arnold couldnt help but be impressed with Jake. THe guy seemed  
  
to have an almost psychic ability to locate Helga. THe other two detectives Arnold had previously hired  
  
had not been really as good. As though sensing that he'd be needed, Jake had been nearby when Arnold had  
  
gone to confront Helga at her apartment. He'd seen what had happened with the young men who'd rushed to  
  
"rescue" her from Arnold, and had followed Helga at a discreet distance when she'd left town. When she  
  
checked into a motel in Wishita, Jake had taken a room directly across from hers where he could keep an  
  
eye on things until Arnold arrived.  
  
Her only stop, Jake informed his client after Arnold had slipped discreetly into his room, had been at a  
  
small pharmacy just inside the Wichita city limits. She'd emerged with a small plastic bag and had driven  
  
straight to this motel. She hadn't been out of her room ever since.  
  
Arnold paced the cramped motel room like an enraged panther, his blood pounding in his ears.  
  
"Why did she look at me that way when I tried to talk to her?" he demanded. "Why did she scream and run  
  
when I touched her arm?"  
  
Sprawled in a chair by the window, his fingers templed in front of him, Jake watched Arnold's movement with  
  
searching eyes.   
  
"You said she acted terrified to see you. What threat do you pose to her?"  
  
"None," Arnold replied. "I never laid a hand on her. Hell, we weren't married long enough to have our first  
  
fight. There's no reason on earth for her to fear me." 


End file.
